DANIELLE LISLE

ROMANCE WRITER

I have to say, I love being a mum. I love the cheeky smile of my four year old that melts my heart and the way he asks the strangest questions – though I suppose for a four year old, they’re not that strange. I love how he has no sensor about what come out of his mouth, “Look! Mum, it’s a boy cow!” he stated just the other day as we passed a cow with a rather impressive ‘package’. He is now at an age where nothing much in the way of life bothers him really. Yet, I’m sad. My little boy is growing up.

I suppose there had been more than one sign of this taking place. He is in his final term at pre-school. He is an avid BMX racer and is not at all afraid of the same things as me. He has no problem getting on my Thoroughbred – all 15.3hh of him, nor does he care when a snake moves in the garden before him. He is of hard-nosed Territory stock and that makes me proud, but sad. Yep - my little boy is growing up.

Yesterday as we were driving home from school and there I was, rocking it out to some new hit on the radio, fake microphone in hand and unfazed by the strange looks of other motorists as they pass by. I was singing at the top of my lungs, totally in the moment, until I hear from the back seat, “Mum, just stop. You’re no Wiggle.” I pause in my final solo and glance into the rear-view mirror only to see him shaking his head as he gazes out the window. Oh – I’ve become an embarrassment to him already. My little boy is growing up.